


The Warmest He'd Ever Been

by OrangeChickenPillow



Series: The Witcher - Shorts [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Weather, Cold Jaskier | Dandelion, Cold Weather, Drunk Jaskier | Dandelion, Drunken Flirting, Emotional Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Mush, Gen, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Male Friendship, Male Slash, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Soulmates, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sleeping Together, Touching, Worried Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, could be platonic or romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:55:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28182009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeChickenPillow/pseuds/OrangeChickenPillow
Summary: Jaskier has no idea where they are going, but he doesn't mind. As long as he's with Geralt, the bard would be content to follow him to the edges of the Continent. But when the two enter an icy wilderness, Jaskier finds himself completely unprepared. The snow, ice, and biting cold freezes every inch of him, but the Witcher doesn't seem to be affected by it at all.How can Jaskier complain, when he was the one who insisted on traveling with Geralt? But how can he go on, when he's so cold he can barely stand?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Witcher - Shorts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2064513
Comments: 7
Kudos: 267





	The Warmest He'd Ever Been

**Author's Note:**

> With this, I begin a new series of short Witcher fics. While the stories will not always directly relate to each other, meaning you can read one without having read the others, they will take place in chronological order, this being the first one. The time that passes in between each story isn't relevant, only that they happen one after the other.
> 
> Also, Yennefer will be joining our duo very soon ;)

Jaskier had no idea where they were.

They’d been traveling for weeks and, at the start of their journey, all had been pleasant. The bard hadn’t even noticed when the temperatures started to drop. He and Geralt had stopped in a well-populated village to spend a night indoors - a luxury that, the bard had discovered, Geralt did not indulge in often - and there, the Witcher had disappeared for several hours.

Jaskier didn’t think much of it, instead choosing to occupy his time by drinking and entertaining at the local tavern. It had been a good time; the crowd was fantastically rowdy, and better yet, they were loving him. 

The Witcher didn’t return until Jaskier had retired to their shared room, practically collapsing onto his bed with exhaustion. 

He was just nodding off when the door banged open, causing Jaskier to jump. 

“Just me,” Geralt muttered, his arms full of various sized bags. 

“Oi, you nearly scared the pants off of me,” Jaskier said groggily as he flopped back onto the pillows. 

“Hmm,” Geralt grunted, distracted. 

“So, how was your night? Delightful, I hope,” the bard said in a flirtatious voice. 

He was, perhaps, a wee bit drunk.

“Hmm,” was the only reply. 

Jaskier rolled his eyes. 

“Hmm,” he mocked, twisting his face into a stoic expression that mimicked Geralt and making his voice as deep as it would go, which was not very. 

“Is that all you have to say? By gods, it is impossible to have decent conversation with you, my friend.”

“It was fine,” Geralt said, hoping that was enough to shut the bard up. 

“Fine?” Jaskier said dryly. “Well, I suppose that’s better than nothing.”

Then added, “I’m glad your evening was ‘fine.’”

Geralt, as if realizing that the bard had continued talking, shot him a rather confused sideways glance. 

“Thank you?” He muttered. 

Jaskier scoffed, flailing his arms until they were positioned above his head. 

“You didn’t even bother to ask how my evening was,” he said quietly. 

Geralt, who had finished organizing all the new bags into a neat pile, sat on the adjacent empty bed to take his armor off.

“How was your evening?” He complied, forcing his voice to sound soft, rather than its usual harsh tone. 

Jaskier sat up, and Geralt wondered how he hadn’t passed out already.

“Thank you. My evening was lovely. I had a few,” Jaskier’s upper half swayed, and his eyelids flickered a little. “Ok, maybe more than a few -- pints of ale. Impeccable,” he gestured with his hands. 

“And then I sang. For… I dunno -- three hours! And everyone loved it,” He enunciated the last words, as if to make sure Geralt knew how much everyone had truly loved it. 

“Good,” Geralt said absentmindedly, laying back onto the bed with a sigh. 

“Yes. It was,” Jaskier added, falling backwards, his head disappearing into a pile of pillows. 

Geralt gave him another sideways glance, only this time a smirk spread across his face. 

“Go to sleep, Jaskier,” he said kindly. 

As if on cue, the bard yawned. “If you say so,” he mumbled. 

They were both asleep in no time. 

The next morning, Geralt roused a hung over Jaskier before the sun had even risen. 

“Ugh, it’s bloody dark out,” the bard objected, his voice cracking. 

“Yes, the perfect time for us to leave,” insisted the Witcher. 

Jaskier groaned, but, as he was getting used to such traveling conditions, rose and dressed in a timely manner. 

They left the village behind, heading in a direction that seemed random to the bard. He simply assumed Geralt knew where they were going -- the Witcher didn’t bother to disclose such information, and Jaskier didn’t ask. It didn’t much matter to him; as long as he was with Geralt, it was sure to be a worthwhile adventure. 

They walked for nearly a week. The weather was warm and spring-like, carrying the scent of flowers, mud, and growing things. They stopped occasionally in villages and towns, but they never stayed the night, much to Jaskier’s objection. Eventually they stopped seeing any signs of established life all together. 

Then the nights started getting colder. The first time Jaskier realized they were headed somewhere arctic was when it had begun snowing one morning. Jaskier had always liked the snow, ever since he was a child, despite getting cold easily; the bard was not made for the outdoors, contrary to the new life he had adopted. 

When big powdery flakes began to fall from the sky, Jaskier gazed up and watched them wide eyed as they danced and whirled in the air. Several times he tripped, more than once almost careening into Roach, all to get a glimpse at the wonders of winter. Geralt found that he didn’t have the heart to chastise him, and let the bard have his fun.  
But the fun would not last for long. 

The further they traveled, the colder it got. The nighttime temperatures dropped little by little until even with a blazing fire they struggled to keep warm. Geralt, who was used to traveling, did not seem to feel the cold at all.

Maybe that was why Jaskier didn’t say anything. 

Truth be told, the bard felt frozen solid. His body ached with the cold, and his hands and feet were never warm, even during the hours of walking he did. 

The bard had not dressed in the anticipation of cold weather, only wearing trousers, a shirt, and a thin woolen jacket.

But Jaskier, despite what Geralt might think of him, was not a complainer. 

Sure, he would often fuss and bewail at the Witcher, but only in jest. 

So Jaskier suffered silently, not wanting to be a bother to Geralt, who was always making offhand comments about the bard slowing him down. Jaskier desperately wanted to avoid asking too much of Geralt, and the Witcher didn’t seem to think the cold was a problem, so he stayed silent. 

While his breath came out in icy bursts and his limbs felt so frozen he feared they might break off, Jaskier stayed silent. He tried to brush it off -- tried to convince himself he could handle it. What was a little cold? 

But one day, he couldn’t endure it anymore.

They had been traveling through the icy conditions for several days when Jaskier realized that things were about to take a very bad turn. Being so cold took a lot of energy out of him. He was constantly shivering, constantly clenching his jaw in an attempt to keep his teeth from chattering. His limbs felt ten times heavier than they should have been, and every step seemed to take double the effort. 

He was cold and he was exhausted. 

He realized that he was struggling to stay conscious. His head felt foggy, and his eyelids kept drooping. He couldn't really see the things around him -- they were all a big white blur, as if the world was a painting that someone had spilled water on. 

He staggered forward, keeping the brown blur that had become Roach close in front of him. 

And then, as they were making their way through a barren valley, Jaskier stumbled.

It was not uncommon for the clumsy bard to trip occasionally, but this time he couldn’t right himself. He was just too cold. 

He fell to his knees, hitting the frozen ground with a thud. 

Geralt’s head whipped around to find the bard stooped over in the grass.

Jaskier tried to get up, but his limbs were too stiff; he felt as if they were no longer a part of his body. 

He wheezed, trying to push himself up. His hands were covered in snow and they burned fiercely. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt’s voice floated through the haze of his mind, monotone at first, but then growing thick with worry. 

“Jaskier?!”

When the bard didn’t respond, just remained hunched over on the ground, Geralt jumped off of Roach, landing swiftly near his fallen companion. 

Jaskier’s eyes wouldn’t focus. He lifted his head, trying to find his friend. 

When he felt a warm hand on his back, he knew it was Geralt by his side. 

Jaskier lifted a shivering hand, somehow finding Geralt’s arm. 

“I-- I--,” Jaskier couldn’t stop his teeth from chattering now. 

The Witcher’s arm stung with the cold that radiated from the bard’s hand, and he noticed that Jaskier’s lips had taken up a bluish tint. 

Jaskier was freezing. 

How had Geralt not noticed? The Witcher’s mind raced frantically as panic started to bubble up in his chest, knowing how dangerous the cold could be for humans. 

“Get up,” Geralt said, his voice tense with fear. 

“I can’t,” Jaskier rasped. “Too cold.” His breath came out in short puffs and his eyelids drooped as if he would lose consciousness any moment. 

“Jaskier, you have to get up. You’ll freeze here if you don’t.”

Jaskier groaned, but tried to get his legs working.

He fell back to the ground. 

With a grimace, Geralt wrapped his hands underneath the bard’s underarms and pulled him off the ground. Jaskier’s limpless made the Witcher’s throat feel tight. 

Geralt held his friend up, arms wrapped around his shoulder and waist, until Jaskier seemed to be able to stand on his own. Being so close to Jaskier allowed Geralt to get a good look at him. His clothes were so thin -- how had Geralt not thought about this. His face wrinkled as he scowled. 

“I’m sorry -- so sorry, I didn’t want to slow you down and here I am doing just that,” Jaskier rasped, wincing and wrapping his arms around his shivering chest.  
Geralt looked at him, face screwed up with confusion. 

“I’m sorry,” the bard said again. 

“Jaskier,” the Witcher said firmly. “I’m not angry at you. I should have noticed something was wrong. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

He ducked his head to look Jaskier in the eye. 

The bard just shivered and looked at Geralt meekly. Then he exhaled a sudden puff of air, as if someone had stabbed him. 

“What? Are you alright,” the Witcher asked somewhat frantically, reaching out a hand to steady the teetering bard. 

“Just… so cold,” Jaskier chattered.

Geralt, barely thinking, grabbed Jaskier by the shoulders, pulling the bard closer to him. He rubbed his hands up and down his friend’s arms, trying to generate some heat.  
Jasker cringed slightly, embarrassed, but Geralt didn’t stop. 

After a few minutes, Jaskier sighed gently as the warmth started to return to his limbs. The pained expression never left his face, however, and the Witcher knew he would have to do more if the bard was going to survive. 

Once Jaskier had stopped shivering so violently, Geralt left him for a moment to retrieve one of Roach’s spare blankets. He shook out as much of the horse hair as he could, then returned to Jaskier, who was standing with his arms crossed and shoulders hunched, looking small and vulnerable. 

Geralt wrapped the blanket around Jaskier, who allowed him to do so with no objections. 

Under any normal circumstance, Jaskier would have fiercely objected, knowing that the blanket belonged to Roach. 

But Jaskier didn’t say anything, just let his eyes fall shut and leaned into Geralt’s warmth, which did little to ease the Witcher’s growing concern. 

“We need to get moving,” Geralt said. 

And he was right; they were exposed to the elements in the valley, and it had started to snow again -- they needed to find some cover. 

Jaskier gave a pained sigh, but nodded his head, turned, and started walking, taking small, stumbling steps. 

“What are you doing,” Geralt asked.

Jaskier turned to look at him as if it was obvious. 

“I’m… walking,” he said, not knowing what Geralt was getting at. 

The Witcher grunted, looking around as if he was trying to find some patience. 

Jaskier felt like he was shrinking. He never should have said anything. 

“No,” was Geralt’s only reply. The Witcher shook his head. 

Jaskier gave him a confused look. 

“But you said--”

“Get on,” Geralt said, pointing a gloved finger at Roach.

Jaskier looked between the Witcher and the horse with an expression of bewilderment. 

After a moment, Geralt said, “Are your ears frozen too?” His tone was gruff with worry as he attempted to lighten the mood. 

“But,” Jaskier started.

However, he didn’t get a chance to finish. 

Rather than wait for the bard to comply, Geralt advanced, firmly taking hold of Jaskier’s arm and leading him over to Roach, where he helped the wobbly bard mount. 

The Witcher followed suit, taking care not to kick his friend. 

“Can you hold on,” he asked. 

“Um…” Jaskier’s voice sounded small. “Where exactly do I… hold on?”

A puff of air left Geralt’s nose -- the Witcher’s subtle way of laughing. 

“The saddle, me, I don’t care,” he said, a hint of humor in his voice, before gently spurring Roach forward. 

The mare gave a little jolt, ready to get moving again, and Geralt felt Jaskier’s arms claw their way around his waist, holding onto him firmly. 

The Witcher gave a silent chuckle. At least the bard would be warming up now. They rode on for a little while before reaching a pile of large, tall rocks that had obviously provided shelter for many travelers; the charred remains of a campfire could still be seen. 

It was a decent camp. One large rock made up the floor, and another blocked the wind, if one was lucky enough to have it blow in their favor. 

Thankfully for Jaskier, the wind was blowing in a way that allowed the rock to take most of the brunt. 

Geralt steered Roach up to the rock, positioning her so they were out of the cold air.

Immediately it felt warmer. 

Jaskier had not spoken the entirety of the ride. The bard’s arms had stayed around Geralt’s waist, but their grip had slackened. The Witcher could feel Jaskier’s head resting on his shoulder and assumed the bard had fallen asleep. He could hear his friend’s even heartbeat, feel the gentle rise and fall of Jaskier’s chest against his back. 

Once they came to a halt, the lack of movement seemed to stir the bard. 

He sat up straight, running a hand along his face. 

Then he realized what -- or rather who -- he had been sleeping on. 

“Oi, sorry Geralt,” He said groggily. “That’s embarrassing, isn’t it.” He was sounding so much more like himself that the Witcher couldn’t resist a relieved smile. 

“Oh gods, I think I drooled on your armor too,” Jaskier groaned, bonking his head against Geralt’s back in horror. 

The Witcher barely held back a laugh, relieved that his friend seemed to be okay. However, he couldn’t pass up on a golden opportunity to tease the bard. 

He grunted in mock disgust, “Guess you’ll be cleaning it later, then.”

Jaskier, picking up on this jaunting, didn’t take the threat seriously. 

“Uh, I do believe -- with absolute certainty, actually -- that my drool is not nearly the worst thing that has touched this armor.”

Geralt did laugh then, stepping down from Roach. 

“Glad to hear you’re feeling better,” he said as he helped the bard down. 

Jaskier just looked at him timidly. 

“Right, sorry about that,” he said with a grimace. 

“Don’t be,” Geralt said firmly. 

Then he added, “I prefer you thawed, anyway.”

Jaskier chuckled weakly. 

“Good, me too.”

Geralt set about starting a fire and, as they were out of the wind, the flame grew quickly. Jaskier scooted as close as he could without lighting his clothes aflame, with Geralt keeping a close eye to prevent just that. 

Jaskier’s shivering gradually died away, and the color soon returned to his cheeks.

Geralt knew for sure that his friend would be okay when, after getting a whiff of the blanket that was wrapped around him, said, in a deadly serious tone:

“Geralt, is this the horse's blanket?” 

He pulled a face of disgust at the idea. 

Geralt shot the bard a sly sideways glance, which was conformation enough. 

“Oh -- oh just wonderful,” Jaskier choked out. 

“You, mister, are lucky I was freezing to death, otherwise I’d never forgive you.”

Geralt looked at him with a raised eyebrow, smiling faintly. 

“Yes you would,” he said plainly, turning his gaze out into the snowy night. 

Jaskier’s eyes studied him for a moment before he responded. 

“Yes, I suppose I would,” he softly wondered. 

Then, in a very characteristic fashion he added, “But still, I feel disgusting. I’ll be picking horse hair off my clothes for the next decade.”

They kept the fire going that night, and Geralt hardly slept, watching it closely to ensure it didn’t go out. 

Jaskier, despite his complaints, kept the blanket wrapped tightly around him all night, scooching his body as close to the fire as the flames would allow. He slept peacefully that night, not the least bit cold. 

Geralt, wanting to keep a careful eye on his friend, made up his own bed nearer than usual to the bard’s. It was common for them to sleep on opposite sides of their camp, but for this night, Geralt slept hardly two feet away from Jaskier -- just in case. 

With the fire on one side of him and the Witcher on the other, Jaskier was the warmest he’d ever been.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Any comments/suggestions are more than welcome :)
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @orangechickenpillow if you wanna stop by and say hello!
> 
> Hope everyone is staying safe and well.


End file.
